Journey of Faith and Fortitude: Performing Hajj and Umrah with Autoimmune Disease
As a doula, she holds space for birth. On this journey, she was the one being held—by divine timing, intuition, and love.
By Zie – Doula, Teacher, Massage Therapist/Instructor, and Grateful Servant of Allah
A Little About Me
I was officially diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis about three and a half years ago, though the signs were there long before the diagnosis came. Before illness slowed me down, I was an active birth and postpartum doula, supporting mothers through pregnancy, birth, and beyond—including massage therapy, workshops, occasional birth walks, and mummy gatherings. My days were long, often spent on my feet for hours, sometimes moving from one birth to another without rest. I thrived on serving others, so when I was officially diagnosed, it affected me badly.
According to the doctor, my RA was aggressive, and it took over a year to bring down my inflammation markers. This was achieved through lifestyle changes alongside prescribed medication. I had to completely rethink how I worked as a doula due to the constant flares. I could no longer provide physical support in hospitals or homes, so I transitioned to virtual labour support and coaching. I reduced my live workshops from weekly sessions to just 2–3 carefully selected ones. I scaled back post-birth support significantly and began referring breastfeeding cases to a trusted lactation consultant. During periods of low disease activity, I offered online coaching and the occasional hands-on workshop, but no more physically demanding birth walks. Even tuition had to be moved online. Over time, and in negotiation with my doctor based on improving blood work, we gradually reduced medications.
In the midst of this busy life, Allah planted a beautiful seed—an invitation to perform Hajj.
Five years earlier, I had registered, knowing that unlike Umrah, which can be done at any time, Hajj can only be performed during Zulhijjah and only when your turn is called. In 2019, my parents were selected. Because of their age and health, they asked me to accompany them. We submitted an appeal, and by Allah’s mercy, both my husband and I were granted a place. We were among the final 600 additional pilgrims accepted that year—just one month before the last Hajj before COVID-19.
Though the symptoms of RA were creeping in, I wasn’t diagnosed yet. I brushed off the stiffness, fatigue, and joint pain as signs of being overworked. I didn’t reduce my commitments—taking on six birth clients a month, running workshops, and prepping for Hajj by walking under the sun and clocking in 10,000 steps daily—training both body and heart for what lay ahead.
But the pain began to build. And I kept pushing through it.
The Moment It Hit
The flare came the night before Arafah. I was in agony. My joints screamed. My body felt like glass—fragile, ready to shatter. Arafah, the heart of Hajj, is when we pour out our hearts in du’a. I couldn’t even sleep. I guasa-ed, tapped, massaged, cried. And prayed.
“Ya Allah, please grant me strength to care for my parents. Let me complete this sacred journey.”
That morning, after Fajr, the pain miraculously lifted. Just like that. SubhanAllah.
Tawaf & Trials
Later, while pushing my mother’s wheelchair during Tawaf, I began to feel like I was dragging bricks. My limbs were heavy, breath short—but I kept going. There was no time to think about myself. My mother needed me.
The officers—those unsung heroes—helped me countless times. When I couldn’t lift her onto the coach anymore, they stepped in like angels. Without them, I’m not sure how I would have managed.
And through it all, my heart whispered, “Hasbunallahu wa ni’mal wakeel.” Allah was enough.
Emotion Amid the Multitudes
In the quiet of the night, amidst 2.5 million souls, I felt both seen and invisible. Seen by my Lord, invisible to those who didn’t know what was going on in my body. But I held onto gratitude. Gratitude for being there. Gratitude for my husband, who silently took over pushing the wheelchair when my body started to collapse.
Two years later in 2021, after enduring flares, failed medications, and deep emotional battles, I was officially diagnosed with RA —just a month after my eldest child’s wedding. A year after that, I booked Umrah with my daughter and son-in-law.
But two months before the trip, a major flare hit. Worse than anything before. I was bedridden, unable to stand. I almost cancelled. But a whisper in my heart said:
“Didn’t He bring you through Hajj? He’ll bring you through this too.”
Two weeks before Umrah, my body began to shut down. I could barely walk or stand for more than 20 minutes without intense pain and swelling in my knees, ankles, and feet. My eyes became sensitive to sunlight, and the fatigue was overwhelming.
My rheumatologist was deeply concerned and advised me to postpone the trip. But I couldn’t make that decision lightly.
I turned to Allah and performed Istikhara, asking for guidance. I consulted my doctor for new medications and what to do if things got worse. I discussed backup plans with my family—wheelchair access, buggy options, extra rest, simplified rituals. Then I packed: medications, braces, wraps—anything that would help me manage.
In the end, I chose to go—not out of stubbornness, but with full tawakkul. I believed if Allah had called me, He would carry me through.
And He did.
My doctor gave me joint injections, extracted fluid, and warned that the effects would be temporary. “If you push too hard,” she said, “you’ll flare again.” But I knew this journey was more than just physical—it was spiritual.
Preparing with Wisdom
This time, I packed smart: medication kits, cooling scarves, wrist and knee braces, essential oils (for after ihram), a foldable prayer chair, and altered my clothes to avoid tripping.
I requested wheelchair services at the airport and during Tawaf and Sai. My daughter would push me if necessary, but we would be separated from the group. There was also the paid buggy option, where I could drive myself or with my daughter. Now, there’s a 6-seater option where someone else can drive you and other jemaah for Tawaf and Sai.
When I stepped onto the marble floors of Masjid al-Haram, the emotions flooded in. I was grateful—but cautious. Every step was an act of tawakkul. Every prayer came with tears.
“Ya Allah, let this pain be a means of purification.”
I ate carefully, sticking to a pescatarian-vegan diet to avoid flare triggers. I bunked with my daughter in case I fell ill—and it turned out to be the best decision, because I contracted COVID in Mecca and had to be wheeled around for Tawaf Wada’.
Emotionally, it was another struggle. From being someone who cared for others to needing care... it broke something inside me. I felt guilt, shame, humility—but also repentance and surrender. My du’a became constant:
“Ya Allah, grant me ease and forgive me.”
Support in Silence
People saw me constantly holding my daughter for support—to walk, to put on my socks, to open my foldable chair for prayer. To them, it seemed like simple, menial help. They assumed arthritis—but their comments and expressions stung.
“Oh, that’s an old person’s disease.”
“Just take meds and push through.”
“Maybe if you lose some weight.”
Or they’d compare me to someone else with RA who looked ‘normal.’
I stopped explaining what autoimmune disease was. It was easier to smile and bear it. The loneliness of invisible illness is real—but so is Allah’s nearness.
For anyone preparing for pilgrimage—be it Hajj or Umrah—we are encouraged to increase our ibadah (religious practices). This can be in the form of more prayers, du’a, selawat, charity, etc.
For me, the first thing someone with chronic illness must do is change their mindset. View the world not as a battleground or trap, but a place of acceptance—seeing the beauty behind every challenge and test. There is truly hikmah (wisdom) behind it all. Redirect energy and thoughts to meaningful routines or actions that benefit others. Think outside the box. Join groups that focus on empowerment, not self-validation.
Rid yourself of the “damsel in distress” mentality. Everything happens for a reason—even if we do not understand it yet. Seek help when needed, but don’t expect privileges. Accept, be proactive, and move on.
Despite the pain, kindness was everywhere. My daughter and son-in-law walked beside me patiently. I remember finishing Tawaf and Sai, utterly drained—and all I could say was,
“Alhamdulillah ‘ala kulli haal.”
I don’t know how I did it. I felt like I was carried by angels.
Back then in Madinah, before we left for Makkah, during quiet nights of selawat and istighfar, something inside me softened. I wept without reason. A sadness washed over me as I left, unsure if I’d ever return. My illness may worsen. But I left with hope, du’a, and immense gratitude.
The walk of Tawaf—round and round, again and again—mirrored my illness journey. Slow. Painful. Repetitive. But with every circuit, there was also healing. Spiritual healing that transcended the physical.
My Talisman for the Journey Ahead
I returned home with two things etched into my heart:
Hasbunallahu wa ni’mal wakeel – “Allah is sufficient for us, and He is the best disposer of affairs.”
The comfort of sending selawat upon the Prophet (peace be upon him), again and again. Feeling that softness and growing love.
And one resolution: If I were to go again, I must bring my husband. His words, his quiet support, his belief in me—carried me even when he wasn’t physically there, so I could double up on my ibadah in peace and full of khusyu’ (focus).
To those with autoimmune disease dreaming of Hajj or Umrah…
Yes, it is possible. Your journey may be slower. It may look different. But your reward is with Allah.
Prepare wisely. Take time for early planning. Discuss your medications with your doctor. Speak kindly to yourself. This is your new normal. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Know your limits—but also know the limitless mercy of Allah. There is leniency in ibadah, so do not push yourself to pray at the mosque if you cannot.
He sees. He knows. He carries you.
And perhaps your pain—when borne with sabr and sincerity—is your most beautiful act of worship.
Islamic Terms and their Meaning
Allah - God in Islam
Hajj - Major pilgrimage to Mecca, obligatory once in a lifetime for Muslims
Umrah - Minor pilgrimage, can be done at any time of the year
Zulhijjah - The 12th month in the Islamic calendar; Hajj is performed during this month
Arafah - The most important day of Hajj; pilgrims gather to pray on Mount Arafat
Du’a - Personal supplication or prayer
Ya Allah - “O Allah” – a direct call to God
Fajr - The dawn prayer, first of five daily prayers in Islam
SubhanAllah - “Glory be to Allah” – used to express awe or gratitude
Tawaf - The act of circling the Kaaba during pilgrimage
Hasbunallahu wa ni’mal wakeel - “Allah is sufficient for us, and He is the best disposer of affairs”
Istikhara - Prayer for seeking guidance from Allah
Tawakkul - Trust and reliance upon Allah
Ihram - Sacred state and garments for pilgrimage
Sai - Ritual walk between the hills of Safa and Marwah during pilgrimage
Jemaah - Pilgrim group or congregation
Tawaf Wada’ - Farewell circumambulation of the Kaaba before leaving Mecca
Masjid al-Haram - The Grand Mosque in Mecca, housing the Kaaba
Ibadah - Acts of worship
Selawat - Sending peace and blessings upon Prophet Muhammad
Hikmah - Divine wisdom or purpose
Alhamdulillah ‘ala kulli haal - “All praise is due to Allah in every circumstance”
Madinah - The Prophet Muhammad’s city and second holiest city in Islam
Istighfar - Seeking forgiveness from Allah
Khusyu’ - Deep focus and humility in prayer
Sabr - Patience and perseverance